The air was thick with smoke. The ground trembled beneath his feet as the battle raged in the valley below. He ran, breath ragged, body sore from the journey, but he didn't stop. Not now. Not after the dream. Not after hearing her voice, feeling her presence carved into his very soul. He had to reach her. He had to make sure she wasn't alone.
As he climbed the ridge, the scent of blood and ash grew heavier. His heart hammered in his chest, a frantic rhythm matching the pounding of his feet against the earth. He broke through the trees into the clearing, eyes scanning the chaos below.
What he saw hit him like a blow to the chest.
Amidst the fire and smoke, Asha lay slumped against the ground, her blade still clenched in her hand. Her eyes were closed, her face pale — no longer the vibrant woman he had known. She was still. Dead.
The world around him slowed. The cries of the wounded, the thundering roar of battle, all faded into a muffled hum. He couldn't move. His legs felt like stone, his throat tightened, breath shallow as the truth settled over him. She was gone.
Hands trembling, he reached for the ground, trying to make sense of the sight before him. The blood pooling around her, the lifelessness of her form, the empty silence — all told him she had already fallen. The war, the death, the finality of it all… he hadn't been there to protect her.
It had to be this way. She had known. She had left him to shield him from this exact moment. But knowing didn't stop the grief, the rage that burned within him. He had always feared the emptiness that would come without her, but to see it, so close and yet so far — it was unbearable.
"Asha," he whispered, the sound of her name foreign on his lips.
The reality of her death hit in waves. He could see her in the dream, her face full of resolve, telling him she couldn't let him die with her in this war. The last thread of their bond snapped, as if her departure had cut something inside him that could never be healed.
He stepped closer, heart aching, hands shaking as he gently touched her arm. Nothing. She was cold. So cold.
She had known. Deep down, she had known that this would be the end. She had chosen this fate, and had walked into it willingly. He hadn't even been there to stop her.
But he hadn't come to mourn her. He hadn't come to weep for the life she had already left behind. He had come to bring her back — to hold her, to refuse to let her go. But she was gone. And he couldn't fix it. He couldn't undo it.
He sank to his knees beside her, body shaking with the weight of grief. The smoke, the screams, the violence — all felt distant, like it no longer mattered. It was just him, kneeling in the blood-soaked earth, with the body of the woman he loved.
"I'll stay with you," he said, voice cracking, words hollow. "I won't leave you alone."
He had failed her. He had promised he would never let her die alone. Now, all he could do was stay with her. Hands trembling, he reached for his own blade, knowing the weight of this moment. He couldn't bear the thought of walking away, of leaving her like this. He had promised he would never leave her. He would keep that promise now.
The ground was cool beneath her, but her body was no longer hers. She was numb. The battle had stolen her life, leaving only fragments of what had been — the people, the chaos, the faces she would never see again. They all faded.
Somewhere, she knew he would come. She could feel him, could sense his presence even in the silence of death. But it was too late. She had made the choice. She had walked into the fire for him, so he wouldn't have to. And now she was gone.
A scream ripped from him, primal and raw, disconnected, as if it came from a place too deep to reach. Grief and rage fused into a single moment of unbearable loss.
From his pouch, he pulled out the small vial of poison he had carried for years for self protection. The decision felt inevitable — the only way to follow her beyond the battlefield, beyond the pain, beyond the world that had taken her.
He swallowed the contents without hesitation. Darkness crept in, yet a faint echo of her voice lingered:
"Don't come after me."
But he had already made his choice.
He would follow her.
This time, there would be no distance between them.